Takeshi Kitano Boxset. (18.)
Directed by Takeshi Kitano.
Violent Cop. (18.) 1989. / Boiling Point. (15.) 1990. / Sonatine. (15.) 1993.
This Blu-ray boxset was released by the BFI at the end of last month as part of their Japan season, but some thieving postie nicked my review discs on route, so I'm doing this belatedly from links.
You couldn't do a Japanese season without some contribution by Beat Takeshi, a remarkable and unclassifiable figure in Japanese culture: comedian, game show host, presenter, pundit, poet, painter, novelist and actor, who originally found fame as half of a double act, The Two Beats. (Catch them on Youtube in their smart suits, they look like they're following Mick Miller on The Comedians.) In Japan he’s Bill Murray, Vic Reeves, Buster Keaton, Ant or Dec, Noel Edmonds, John Cooper Clark and Rolf Harris, rolled into one. To the rest of the world though he's a filmmaker going by the name Kitano.
This box set contains three of the first four films he directed, his first three crime dramas. It's an origin's trilogy, a finding your feet collection in which he learns about the medium: what it can do and what he can do in it. After 4 years of trial and error it concludes with a truly great film Sonatine; he was a pretty quick learner.
You can see the distinctive Kitano style, both as a performer and director, developing over the trio. His m.o. is do as little as possible for the maximum of effect. On-screen his face barely moves, gives nothing away – his film performances are extended poker hands and maybe by the end, you'll have found out what he was holding. As a director, he mostly restricts himself to simple shots. There are lots of closeups, usually of faces doing very little and camera movements are kept to a minimum.
The tears of a clown are a tired old cliche; the sadistic nihilism of the misanthrope clown rather less so – apart from those times Michael MacIntyre gets loaded and chops up the first homeless guy he sees. In Sonatine this has coalesced into a mordant existential equilibrium, a brutal serenity. It's a kind of peace but hard-won; the two previous films are thuggish and ugly to a degree that can be a little hard to take. Kitano is one of my cinematic deities; it's a little difficult to come to terms with the realisation that one of your heroes is/was a bitter, petty, cruel little man. Difficult, but doable.
Directed by Takeshi Kitano.
Violent Cop. (18.) 1989. / Boiling Point. (15.) 1990. / Sonatine. (15.) 1993.
This Blu-ray boxset was released by the BFI at the end of last month as part of their Japan season, but some thieving postie nicked my review discs on route, so I'm doing this belatedly from links.
You couldn't do a Japanese season without some contribution by Beat Takeshi, a remarkable and unclassifiable figure in Japanese culture: comedian, game show host, presenter, pundit, poet, painter, novelist and actor, who originally found fame as half of a double act, The Two Beats. (Catch them on Youtube in their smart suits, they look like they're following Mick Miller on The Comedians.) In Japan he’s Bill Murray, Vic Reeves, Buster Keaton, Ant or Dec, Noel Edmonds, John Cooper Clark and Rolf Harris, rolled into one. To the rest of the world though he's a filmmaker going by the name Kitano.
This box set contains three of the first four films he directed, his first three crime dramas. It's an origin's trilogy, a finding your feet collection in which he learns about the medium: what it can do and what he can do in it. After 4 years of trial and error it concludes with a truly great film Sonatine; he was a pretty quick learner.
You can see the distinctive Kitano style, both as a performer and director, developing over the trio. His m.o. is do as little as possible for the maximum of effect. On-screen his face barely moves, gives nothing away – his film performances are extended poker hands and maybe by the end, you'll have found out what he was holding. As a director, he mostly restricts himself to simple shots. There are lots of closeups, usually of faces doing very little and camera movements are kept to a minimum.
The tears of a clown are a tired old cliche; the sadistic nihilism of the misanthrope clown rather less so – apart from those times Michael MacIntyre gets loaded and chops up the first homeless guy he sees. In Sonatine this has coalesced into a mordant existential equilibrium, a brutal serenity. It's a kind of peace but hard-won; the two previous films are thuggish and ugly to a degree that can be a little hard to take. Kitano is one of my cinematic deities; it's a little difficult to come to terms with the realisation that one of your heroes is/was a bitter, petty, cruel little man. Difficult, but doable.
